


would it really kill you if we kissed?

by TylahJayne



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Continuation, Coach!Yuuri, Dealing with anxiety, Demisexual Emil, Demisexual Yuuri, Emil Centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Genderfluid Emil, M/M, Minor death, Multi, Poly!Yuuri, Queerplatonic themes, Slow Build, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, aka emil, they adopt another kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TylahJayne/pseuds/TylahJayne
Summary: Emil could say he had no idea when his attraction to Michele started, but that would be flat out lying. He could say that it wasn’t serious, but that would also be a lie. He could say that it didn’t affect his skating, but even he knew that that was a lie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> providing the content the fandom needs since 2k14, welcome to emil town, aka the backstory my son deserves

Emil could say he had no idea when his attraction to Michele started, but that would be flat out lying. He could say that it wasn’t serious, but that would also be a lie. He could say that it didn’t affect his skating, but even he knew that that was a lie. 

He was ten when his parents were shot and killed. Legally, it was labelled a hit and run when they weren’t able to locate the killer. There had been no motive, apart from the fact that they were a happy same-sex couple. Emil knew what it was, it was a hate crime through and through. Although he was only ten at the time, he knew what hate was, and what it bred. 

Legal custody was passed to his aunt, the one that had never really liked him, or even tried to get to know him. Luckily, his aunt didn’t live too far away from where he used to live, and his aunt was kind enough to fund his figure skating, as they both ignored the bank account that had his name on it. His first coach was plain, basic. Good for building the fundamentals, but not good for much more. If anything, he gave Emil more bad habits and anxiety than he would ever need. 

The four years after his parent's death were the hardest, he blasted his way through school and skating, throwing everything he had into them, his pain and his sadness. Eventually, he emerged from the other side, skating fundamentals under his belt, and his schooling well and truly ahead of where he should be. His school bumped him up a grade, and he still advanced. He wasn’t a genius, but he had the makings to be. 

At fourteen, he made the decision to ditch his current coach, and pursue a better coach he had heard of in Italy, as he was getting absolutely nowhere. It didn’t take long for arrangements to be made, and he was off on his own. Officially he was living under the guardianship of his new coach and had taken up residence in her spare room.  
His first week in Italy was spent exploring and enrolling in school, we were bumped up another year, putting him two years ahead of his age group. He didn’t care, he wasn’t there to make friends, he was there to learn and improve his skating. His new coach seemed surprised at the kind of kid he was, and he often caught himself smiling about it. No one expects the lean blonde to pack the kind of brains he had. 

Emil’s first experience at his new rink, was his coach drilling him for over four hours on an early Saturday morning. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to, as over the years he had built up a stamina that left him ahead of a lot of people, but his anxiety usually made this give way. 

The second week of skating was performance checks, and his coach working out his limits and boundaries. He surprised her with the height of his jumps, and his ability to adapt to outwards stimuli. He knew that his timid persona and his aggressive skating probably drove off a lot of people willing to be his friend, but Emil found that he really didn’t care. He wasn’t there to make friends he was there to skate. 

He took those words back the second Sara Crispino barrelled him over on the ice. The sharp crack of his head hitting the ice shocked the whole rink, and it took about two seconds before his coach was moving into action, and an additional three seconds for him to stand up with an eye roll and skate to the barrier. It was far from the first time he has hit his head on the ice, and his old coach had never really bothered to check for a concussion afterwards, so he had learned what to do in case of one.

Ten minutes later he was back on the ice, and the rink was back in full swing. After practice, however, the girl who four years his senior took him aside and apologised. Emil was never good with people, so he simply smiled and told her that he played hockey from age five till he quit and took up figure skating. She simply nodded and said that his skating was beautiful.

They became fast friends, she was surprised to find that he was still working his way through high school, though at an incredibly fast rate. He only had two, maybe even a year and a half left before they would let him graduate. Emil was thankful when they started exchanging tips among themselves, though male and female figure skating was vastly different. He wanted to add a more feminine touch to his routines, to express his gender fluid tendencies, which his coach was absolutely fine with. 

Emil’s first meeting with the boy due to change his life hadn’t been the most extraordinary thing. His best friend, the only friend he’s ever had really, Sara Crispino had finally worked up the nerve to introduce him to her twin brother. On some level, Emil thinks he knew then that his life was never going to be the same.

It hadn’t gone the best. Michele had reacted terribly to his baby sister having a male friend and had flipped out. It took a fist to the fact (Emil could still feel the blood streaming from his nose if he thought long enough), Sara screaming, and his manic laughter to finally calm the angry twin down enough to realise that he’d essentially assaulted a – no, not a boy, never a boy – kid four years younger than him. 

Sara had been frantic to try and stop the blood coming from his nose, but Emil hadn’t cared. He’d suffered from much worse, and he ended up shaking Michele’s hand with his palm streaked with blood and congratulated him on his right hook. 

Michele was appropriately horrified and started apologising, all while looking at him very suspiciously. It hit him then, while he was still young, he was immensely attracted to this eighteen-year-old. He blinked, raking his eyes down the form in front of him. Michele was lean, with bulk in the places it mattered. Emil blinked again, and again, then looked at Sara. Then back at Michele, then he laughed again. God, he was fucked. 

Back then, Emil hadn’t really been sure it could go any more downhill. He was wrong, very wrong. The physical aspect of his attraction he really could. He was a – no he wasn’t he killed that train of thought right there. He could deal with the arousal. Now what he really couldn’t be fucked to deal with was the feelings. Now, feelings were something Emil hadn’t dealt with before. He thought he had buried that part of him when he started skating. There was no room for romance in his heart when he skated. He was empty, devoid of emotion. That’s what his first coach had drilled into his skull. He was a vessel, when it came to his performance, he was no longer apart of the equation. His body, the music, and the routine were the only aspects that mattered. 

Somewhere along the line, he had learned that this was wrong, skating needed emotion, it needed to breathe and grow and live, but he wasn’t sure he could accomplish that anymore. So he let the thought die and progressed. Meeting Michele however, had sparked something inside of him, brought forward and aspect of skating that he didn’t think was possible, there was passion in his jumps and sequences and spins. There was something living, and growing in his skating. 

He never did get over the physical attraction he felt towards the other man, it always simmers in the back of his mind, giving him a running feed of how close the Italians thigh was to his, the sound of his voice when their skin met. It had gotten easier to ignore over the years, but never quite disappeared. 

Honestly, someone needed to give Emil a break at this point, over three months in their friendship, Michele – or Mickey as he didn’t like to be called, but Emil called him anyways – was still suspicious about his and Sara’s friendship, which was frankly downright annoying at this point. Wasn’t it obvious to Mickey that he was super god damn gay and had a huge boner for his best male friend? Obvious to everyone that was not Michele, which was also annoying because he didn’t know how he felt about this situation and yet they kept fucking teasing him and provoking him and they never left him alone. It stopped after Emil nearly broke someone’s arm and was benched for a week as punishment. Emil stopped being so friendly to everyone at the rink after that, angry that he had to be pushed to violence before it all stopped. 

His coach understood, and immediately dished out a lecture to the other skaters at the rink about proper rink mate behaviour, and when it was appropriate to tease someone, and when it wasn’t. Then proceeded to inform them all about anxiety, and what you really shouldn’t do when someone has it. 

Things improved for Emil after that, he started pushing himself in his training, and when competition season started, he was ready. He took silver in his first competition of the season, shocking the judges of the junior league, and laughing when someone asked him what drugs he was taking that had so rapidly improved his skating since his first season at fourteen, back in his hometown. 

His coach was proud of him, and so was Sara. Mickey was surprised and congratulated him. It didn’t take long for the Czech Republic skater to become a household name in the junior division. He took gold and silvers easily with his dedication and the support of his coach 

After his birthday, and travelling back to his hometown to renew his coaches short term guardianship of him, the started planning his senior division debut. His short program was aggressive but still held the beauty and feminine touch that both his coach and Sara had been drilling into him for the better half of the year. His free skate was sharp, with a masculine sharp edge, reminding people that while he may be limber and delicate, he’s capable of much more than people give him credit for. 

Emil isn’t stupid. He graduates before his senior debut and clears his schedule, a day of rest followed by two days of intense conditioning and training. Off days were spent stretching with Sara and talking with Mickey, and ignoring the thrum of desire electrifying his skin. He knew that he wouldn’t reach the podium, but at least he could reach the Grand Prix and show the world that he means business. 

Emil grows out his hair, there’s quite a lot of it since he’s been growing it out since he arrived in Italy, and Sara just loves to get her hands on it. Mickey is difficult about it, and his rink mates try to start shit, but he quickly shuts then down with a well-placed threat of a broken limb, that limb not being their arms or legs.  
He grows into his gender and sexuality in ways he didn’t expect, his frame doesn’t fill out much, keeping him slender and thin. He enjoys the minimal bulk, and the less weight he has to drag around the ice the better. He paints his nails and experiments with makeup. His senior theme will be gender expression, so he chooses costumes that he usually wouldn’t. 

For his short program, he choices a light blue and black number, with most of the chest being a sheer material, with several black flairs lining the left side, with the sleeves being a delicate black lace. He plans to pull his hair up into a high bun, and hopefully thoroughly confuse the audience. For his free program, he goes with a more suit-like attire. The entire jacket is covered in golden embroidery, and he finishes the look with a golden smoky eye and a strong gold lip glimmer. 

 

His senior debut goes as expected. He takes third and the whole world knows not to fuck with Emil Nekola.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly emil is writing this himself so remind me if it goes off canon so i can add the canon divergant tag bc lmao this boi is goin places


End file.
